From the gates of hell and back: Yet another tale of how shit gets real ...
I was supposed to report to work at Grocott's Mail on Monday the 2nd of September. I had a profile article to write on the editor, Mr Steven Lang, and I intended it to be a really good one. I knew I had a long week ahead of me the previous evening as I sat high and drunk with my friends in the lounge of our vacation home. Winston, Beezwax and I met in first year. I maintain till this very day that the one thing that brought us together is our mutual appreciation for alcohol, marijuana and beautiful women. What kept us all together, however, is the respect we share as well as the way there is never a dull moment when we all three get together. This was our first time living together under the same roof.
I was supposed to have secured myself a room in an on-campus residence for the short vacation - however, I opted rather to keep the cash my mother sent me and make memories with my best friends. I felt bad at the time because I know she's really struggling a lot with paying for my university fees and her car and many other expenses. She's a single parent, my mum. My father, now six feet under, was a runner. Not the athletic sort, no. Just the "I don't want to be a father right now" kind, you know? Their estranged relationship really did quite the number on me; but I came out all right in the end, I reckon. Besides this story, I lead a quiet, reasonably boring life.
I should have just stuck to the plan and reported in for work. I really should have. Maybe then I would not have woken up an uncomfortable of hospital chair curled up in a blanket turned make-shift pillow several days later. The bed beside me was occupied by my friend Angel, who lay heavily sedated. It had taken her a long time to finally fall asleep. She never sleeps. I fear her dreams may be haunted by memories of incidents passed: memories which may have lead to the deterioration of her young mind. I stood up, kissed her on the forehead before going outside to light the half-smoked cigarette I had stashed in my pocket when the paramedic instructed her and me to enter the ambulance. This was at around two o'clock that morning.
I had been walking her home from my vacation home where my friends and I had been drinking yet again. I called her and invited her over as an apology for standing her up the previous night. It had been after a friend's birthday party. I was not sure if Winston and Beezwax had been invited; and so in all respect we gatecrashed. We took a bottle of vodka and apple soda along with us just so as not to bee seen as freeloaders. All we wanted was to have fun. I wound up passed out outside the Great Hall, where the Campus Protection Unit had found me and drove me home. I vaguely remember leaving that party early to go visit Angel at the place where she was staying over for vacation. I never quite made it there. I imagine the main reason for my failed attempt at missioning to Angel's place was due to the fact that I had not taken that necessary break from drinking to heal from the previous two days' binge escapades.
And so Angel came through last week. This was on Saturday the 7th of September. We all had a blast that night; that is, until Angel had a little too much wine. People drink for one of two main reasons: either to wind out and have a spot of fun or - as was the case with Angel at that point in time - to drown sorrows. I spied her downing a glass of wine at some point, which is when I imagine things went south for her. She got a too inebriated and so my digs mate Tony told me to ask her to leave.
I know I drank a lot last week. I too had a lot of forgetting to do, a lot of daemons to drown. And I admit I was intent on doing just that before returning back to schooling. I had had a physical run-in with my friend Blue's boyfriend Olly the previous Wednesday evening. He was quite pissed off because I was standing at a corner with her - and in all respect it may have seemed an intimate gathering to the jealous boyfriend. All it was, however, was me walking her back home from my place where she had been visiting for the afternoon. It was completely innocent, to be honest; but Olly didn't see it that way. Two months earlier, Olly had been on her Instant Messaging application while I was flirting with her - and it pissed him off. I cared then for his insecurities as I do now: which isn't a great deal, to be honest. The idiot struck out at me when he saw us together that day. I blocked his blow to my face and walked away. I've spent a good number of days now planning how best to confront him for being a bitch. And so to help the thinking process along, I drank more.
Back to that Saturday, I had convinced myself when I woke up hung-over and sick from the previous night's over consumption that I would never touch alcohol again. Evening came and Beezwax - who had not returned home on Friday - returned at long last with a box of wine. I just wanted to spend time with Angel, to be honest, at which point I called and apologized for standing her up the previous night, explained the circumstances and knew as soon as she had laughed that I had been long forgiven. She arrived ... we drank on ... and then I was walking her back to campus on Toby's instruction. I should have seen the warning signs of her impending breakdown. Perhaps reprimanding her for playing the fool was wrong of me. I was hungover, agitated still by my own problems and quite generally foul-tempered. She listened as I pointed out everything she had done wrong that night; and then she finally spoke.
"I'm sorry," she said.
My response to this was quite derisive and curt. I feel awful now, thinking back, for the manner in which I regarded her at that point. Initially, the plan was to walk her to campus and leave her there to find her own way home. However, she turned into a vacant porch and began crying hysterically. I knew at this point that shit had hit the fan and I was yet again right in the middle of it. I have never known how to handle tears, but sensed that there was something severe eating at her. I jumped to her side and held her tight, coaxing her as the tears streamed down her soaked cheeks and onto my forearm. She continued weeping sorrowfully for what seemed a lifetime. I reassured her that as much as I had lost my temper, I would never forsake her. At last, I thought she had calmed down when she suddenly looked up and her breathing slowed from the previous moment's frantic panting. What came next took me by complete surprise.
"I want to die!" she exploded and her crying intensified. She leaped to her feet and launched herself against the wall next to her, smacking into it head-first. I rose swiftly too to restrain her from inflicting further harm to herself and suggested that we keep on moving. While walking back up to campus, she kept making rather feral growl noises - as though trying to clear her throat; but what she was trying to cough out lay deeper than that. I was afraid - not of her but for her. I had never seen anything quite of that nature before, and it terrified me that the world could have done something so unjust to someone so young and beautiful. I resolved to rather walk her to one of my residential wardens who lectures psychology.
We eventually arrived at his place to find it empty. I assumed he had gone away for the vacation as well, and so I went and banged on my own warden's flat out of desperation. Angel and I sorely needed to get out of the marrow-numbing cold, and I admittedly wanted this to be someone else's problem. My warden, Tom, finally answered my calls.
"Hi, Tom. Look, I'm really sorry for calling so late, but my friend's having a rather mental breakdown and I need your help." I said frantically, tears welling up in my own eyes. I pushed them back and pulled the stoniest face I could master.
"It's fine," Tom said to me. "I'm going to call an ambulance and we'll take it from there."
I was quite disappointed that he could not take us to the hospital himself, given the severity of the problem and the fact that he has a car; but I decided to let it slide. The ambulance arrived and the paramedics, after being treated to a not so brilliant attempt at proving how 'fine' she was, saw for themselves that Angel was not all right. And so we dashed off to hospital where she was sedated and admitted for four days.
I learned on returning to campus for term this past Monday that my deadline was - in fact - not at the end of term; but was instead scheduled for the next Monday. I have been sober since the ordeal with Angel. Winston's girlfriend returned to Grahamstown and he's been cooped up in his room with her for the entirety of this week. Him and I decided to leave Beezwax at our vacation house and return to campus; he left in secret sometime this past week. Angel was discharged from hospital two days ago, and now seems to have developed real feelings for me. I stand to be corrected - I've never really been good at telling such. I rate it's nothing but a case of Survivor's Syndrome (when the victim of a shitty experience falls for the dashing stud who stuck by her side throughout). Whatever it is, that ship has sailed for me. I'm just glad she's all right.
A friend wrote to me a couple of days ago, and part of what she said was that "dysfunction is not love". As for me; the adrenalin-fueled euphoria I had when I started writing this feature has since subsided, and I find myself fucked without a profile article I intended on writing. It took me a minute before I realized that I was drawn to a whole lot of dysfunction - and it had a lot with me doing everything other than what I'm supposed to be doing. I know I have to face the music for being a shit-faced drunkard; and I also know that the punishment for skiving off on my duties will quite possibly be severe. However, I'm still very content. For one thing, I highly doubt my week would have been half as exciting had I been constrained by the inevitability of work every single morning. Sure, I'd have a decent feature article on a highly respected editor in my back pocket instead of an account of drunken misdemeanors; but I would have possibly missed out on life. If this serves as anything else other than good ass-wiping material, I would like it to be regarded as a good example for journalists to come of what not to do.
I was supposed to have secured myself a room in an on-campus residence for the short vacation - however, I opted rather to keep the cash my mother sent me and make memories with my best friends. I felt bad at the time because I know she's really struggling a lot with paying for my university fees and her car and many other expenses. She's a single parent, my mum. My father, now six feet under, was a runner. Not the athletic sort, no. Just the "I don't want to be a father right now" kind, you know? Their estranged relationship really did quite the number on me; but I came out all right in the end, I reckon. Besides this story, I lead a quiet, reasonably boring life.
I should have just stuck to the plan and reported in for work. I really should have. Maybe then I would not have woken up an uncomfortable of hospital chair curled up in a blanket turned make-shift pillow several days later. The bed beside me was occupied by my friend Angel, who lay heavily sedated. It had taken her a long time to finally fall asleep. She never sleeps. I fear her dreams may be haunted by memories of incidents passed: memories which may have lead to the deterioration of her young mind. I stood up, kissed her on the forehead before going outside to light the half-smoked cigarette I had stashed in my pocket when the paramedic instructed her and me to enter the ambulance. This was at around two o'clock that morning.
I had been walking her home from my vacation home where my friends and I had been drinking yet again. I called her and invited her over as an apology for standing her up the previous night. It had been after a friend's birthday party. I was not sure if Winston and Beezwax had been invited; and so in all respect we gatecrashed. We took a bottle of vodka and apple soda along with us just so as not to bee seen as freeloaders. All we wanted was to have fun. I wound up passed out outside the Great Hall, where the Campus Protection Unit had found me and drove me home. I vaguely remember leaving that party early to go visit Angel at the place where she was staying over for vacation. I never quite made it there. I imagine the main reason for my failed attempt at missioning to Angel's place was due to the fact that I had not taken that necessary break from drinking to heal from the previous two days' binge escapades.
And so Angel came through last week. This was on Saturday the 7th of September. We all had a blast that night; that is, until Angel had a little too much wine. People drink for one of two main reasons: either to wind out and have a spot of fun or - as was the case with Angel at that point in time - to drown sorrows. I spied her downing a glass of wine at some point, which is when I imagine things went south for her. She got a too inebriated and so my digs mate Tony told me to ask her to leave.
I know I drank a lot last week. I too had a lot of forgetting to do, a lot of daemons to drown. And I admit I was intent on doing just that before returning back to schooling. I had had a physical run-in with my friend Blue's boyfriend Olly the previous Wednesday evening. He was quite pissed off because I was standing at a corner with her - and in all respect it may have seemed an intimate gathering to the jealous boyfriend. All it was, however, was me walking her back home from my place where she had been visiting for the afternoon. It was completely innocent, to be honest; but Olly didn't see it that way. Two months earlier, Olly had been on her Instant Messaging application while I was flirting with her - and it pissed him off. I cared then for his insecurities as I do now: which isn't a great deal, to be honest. The idiot struck out at me when he saw us together that day. I blocked his blow to my face and walked away. I've spent a good number of days now planning how best to confront him for being a bitch. And so to help the thinking process along, I drank more.
Back to that Saturday, I had convinced myself when I woke up hung-over and sick from the previous night's over consumption that I would never touch alcohol again. Evening came and Beezwax - who had not returned home on Friday - returned at long last with a box of wine. I just wanted to spend time with Angel, to be honest, at which point I called and apologized for standing her up the previous night, explained the circumstances and knew as soon as she had laughed that I had been long forgiven. She arrived ... we drank on ... and then I was walking her back to campus on Toby's instruction. I should have seen the warning signs of her impending breakdown. Perhaps reprimanding her for playing the fool was wrong of me. I was hungover, agitated still by my own problems and quite generally foul-tempered. She listened as I pointed out everything she had done wrong that night; and then she finally spoke.
"I'm sorry," she said.
My response to this was quite derisive and curt. I feel awful now, thinking back, for the manner in which I regarded her at that point. Initially, the plan was to walk her to campus and leave her there to find her own way home. However, she turned into a vacant porch and began crying hysterically. I knew at this point that shit had hit the fan and I was yet again right in the middle of it. I have never known how to handle tears, but sensed that there was something severe eating at her. I jumped to her side and held her tight, coaxing her as the tears streamed down her soaked cheeks and onto my forearm. She continued weeping sorrowfully for what seemed a lifetime. I reassured her that as much as I had lost my temper, I would never forsake her. At last, I thought she had calmed down when she suddenly looked up and her breathing slowed from the previous moment's frantic panting. What came next took me by complete surprise.
"I want to die!" she exploded and her crying intensified. She leaped to her feet and launched herself against the wall next to her, smacking into it head-first. I rose swiftly too to restrain her from inflicting further harm to herself and suggested that we keep on moving. While walking back up to campus, she kept making rather feral growl noises - as though trying to clear her throat; but what she was trying to cough out lay deeper than that. I was afraid - not of her but for her. I had never seen anything quite of that nature before, and it terrified me that the world could have done something so unjust to someone so young and beautiful. I resolved to rather walk her to one of my residential wardens who lectures psychology.
We eventually arrived at his place to find it empty. I assumed he had gone away for the vacation as well, and so I went and banged on my own warden's flat out of desperation. Angel and I sorely needed to get out of the marrow-numbing cold, and I admittedly wanted this to be someone else's problem. My warden, Tom, finally answered my calls.
"Hi, Tom. Look, I'm really sorry for calling so late, but my friend's having a rather mental breakdown and I need your help." I said frantically, tears welling up in my own eyes. I pushed them back and pulled the stoniest face I could master.
"It's fine," Tom said to me. "I'm going to call an ambulance and we'll take it from there."
I was quite disappointed that he could not take us to the hospital himself, given the severity of the problem and the fact that he has a car; but I decided to let it slide. The ambulance arrived and the paramedics, after being treated to a not so brilliant attempt at proving how 'fine' she was, saw for themselves that Angel was not all right. And so we dashed off to hospital where she was sedated and admitted for four days.
I learned on returning to campus for term this past Monday that my deadline was - in fact - not at the end of term; but was instead scheduled for the next Monday. I have been sober since the ordeal with Angel. Winston's girlfriend returned to Grahamstown and he's been cooped up in his room with her for the entirety of this week. Him and I decided to leave Beezwax at our vacation house and return to campus; he left in secret sometime this past week. Angel was discharged from hospital two days ago, and now seems to have developed real feelings for me. I stand to be corrected - I've never really been good at telling such. I rate it's nothing but a case of Survivor's Syndrome (when the victim of a shitty experience falls for the dashing stud who stuck by her side throughout). Whatever it is, that ship has sailed for me. I'm just glad she's all right.
A friend wrote to me a couple of days ago, and part of what she said was that "dysfunction is not love". As for me; the adrenalin-fueled euphoria I had when I started writing this feature has since subsided, and I find myself fucked without a profile article I intended on writing. It took me a minute before I realized that I was drawn to a whole lot of dysfunction - and it had a lot with me doing everything other than what I'm supposed to be doing. I know I have to face the music for being a shit-faced drunkard; and I also know that the punishment for skiving off on my duties will quite possibly be severe. However, I'm still very content. For one thing, I highly doubt my week would have been half as exciting had I been constrained by the inevitability of work every single morning. Sure, I'd have a decent feature article on a highly respected editor in my back pocket instead of an account of drunken misdemeanors; but I would have possibly missed out on life. If this serves as anything else other than good ass-wiping material, I would like it to be regarded as a good example for journalists to come of what not to do.
Comments
Post a Comment